


Routine Destruction

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:12:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're fat and ugly and everyone is laughing at you...you just know it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Routine Destruction

You’re listening to Brad bitch and moan about how fat he’s getting, as if he’s a fucking model, as if people are going to see his figure under his baggy clothes. If Brad is fat what the hell does that make you? You’d never been much concerned with your weight or your size, it had just been how you were, but things changed when you heard Chester complaining about how touring was making him gain weight and how he was going to have to start walking from venue to venue in an attempt to burn off all the crap he’d been eating.

You think he’s stupid ‘cause, you know, Chester has a body of a God. You have too; though it’s a shame the God is Buddha.

You can’t stop eating because food is everywhere and everyone seems to be eating all the time, but you can’t go on the way you have been either. You have to cut down and you know it. So whilst Brad is bitching about his size, you’re working out how far down your throat you’re going to have to stick your fingers before you gag reflex kicks in.

At one point you even think of telling Chester that you can’t blow him any more. How the hell would you tell him that anyway? “Sorry, baby, but one teaspoon of semen has five calories in it and I’m on a diet so…” Yeah that would go smoothly. You suppose you could still sleep with him, just avoid blow jobs at all costs. You could spit…but that just seems rude.

You feel like a peer-pressured teenage girl and you hate it. You hate that you’re even more self conscious about people seeing you shirtless than before. You never ever liked taking your shirt off on stage, that wasn’t your scene, but now you have a genuine fear of people seeing your skin - they’ll laugh at you and you know it. You ask for bigger sizes in T-shirts now too, just in case.

You don’t binge much, at first, but then it all escalates and binging becomes the first thing on your mind on a morning. You find yourself buying more food than the other five band members put together and then stashing the food in your bunk. Deep inside you know this is just the beginning. You know that, eventually, you’ll be the fat-ass who doesn’t give a shit that the litre of chocolate milk you just drank was expired let alone that it wasn’t yours in the first place. You can quite clearly picture yourself kneeling on the cold tile of the bathroom floor backstage at an anonymous arena, you’re eating cake with one hand and puking it back up with the other. It’s a cycle. It’s a necessary cycle not a routine of destruction.

You tell yourself that as you purge. You tell yourself “I need to be doing this”, but it’s hard to really say anything with two fingers down your throat.

You hate yourself as you slink to the front of the bus. Chester is lying stretched out on the couch and watches you with hooded eyes as you stand on your toes to reach into the very back of the cupboard. Your hand slides across the shelf blindly until your fingers brush against a box of god-knows-what, you shift a little so you can get a better grip of the box and pull it out. You’ve scored yourself the last box of Twinkies and, as you reach into the cupboard again, a giant Hershey bar. You grab a couple of cans of soda out of the fridge and can feel Chester’s eyes on you as you straighten up and go to leave the room.

“How can you possibly be hungry when I heard you barfing not thirty minutes ago?” He asks. His tone is soft but you know better than to brush him off.

“Exactly.” You say carefully, “I barfed and now I’m empty.”

This excuse seems to satisfy Chester, he simply smiles affectionately and lies back down. As you trudge back to your bunk, you have a hard time believing you just lied to boyfriend so you can stuff your face. You love Chester, know it used to be all about sex and getting each other off whenever you could, are glad your relationship is much deeper now and are relieved that you don’t have to hide it any more. Chester was never one for lying and so, when confronted by Joe asking why the pair of you had been acting so strangely, Chester just upped and said it. He didn’t say “Me and Mike are fucking” which is what you expected him to say, he said “Me and Mike are in love.” Back then you would have never considered lying to him over food, but a lot of things have changed since then.

One of which is your temper. It’s so easy to wind you up, now-a-days. It takes as little as an empty coffee pot on a morning to rattle your cage. That’s just another thing you hate about yourself. You hate that you cannot contain your anger any more. Along with becoming a greedy fucking pig and a liar, you are steadily becoming a hateful bastard – you haven’t a nice word to say to anyone.

One day you decide, fuck the food. Skip the middle man. It’s hard, at first, but you get used to it eventually. Chester watches you like a hawk for a few days but you manage to convince him that you’re fine by fucking him into the hotel mattress.

Eventually people just start assuming that you’ve eaten when you tell them you’re not hungry. They all think you are such a pig that you must have already stuffed your face before they even got a look at the food. You know that’s what they’re thinking. Even Brad, your best friend of how many years? Even Brad thinks you’re an obese mess. It hurts. You used to smother that pain by eating, but now you don’t have that comfort but you know, this way, you have control. People won’t stare at you in disgust any more – they’ll all look at you the way they look at Chester.

Who cares if it’s what’s on the inside that counts? Who cares when the outside is the first thing people see? No matter how shallow it sounds, you will readily admit that you just want to look good because good looks include high self-esteem which, since your little binge eating ordeal, you seem to have a profound lack of.

You are rapidly becoming everything you have ever spoken strongly against and you love it. You know that you have become vainer than you ever thought possible, you also know that vanity is a form of pride and pride is, of course, the sin of all sins. You cannot remember ever feeling this little passion for anything but your self image and for that you hate yourself. When you hate yourself, you eat.

And you tell your pale reflection with sharp, defined cheek bones and sunken, dull eyes that it’s a cycle. It’s a necessary cycle not a routine of destruction.


End file.
